


Behind the Mask

by Tibbins



Series: True Faces [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s13e12 Various and Sundry Villains, Hell Trauma, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, POV Sam Winchester, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 13:38:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13571694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tibbins/pseuds/Tibbins
Summary: Continuation of 13x12. Dean tries to get Sam to open up the only way he hasn't tried yet; with a calm, honest discussion. Dark themes, implied past abuse, lots of Hell mentions. Implied Destiel.





	Behind the Mask

**Author's Note:**

  * For [That_loser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/That_loser/gifts).



> Hi everyone!
> 
> So the latest episode was awesome, am I right?! I loved it. I can't wait until next week though, that one promises to be even better! Eep, my little shipper heart is gonna explode!
> 
> So here's a fic to tide you over, inspired by a comment that That_loser left on my last fic and the discussion that ensued. (Thank you!) There are a lot of dark themes in this, dark implications and a bunch of Hell mentions. Although I didn't really wanna go into too much detail, be warned.
> 
> Enjoy ^_^

 

"We'll figure it out" Dean said.

"Dean, we don't have a plan. We don't know what to do so… so… how?" Sam stared at his brother, almost desperate. He knew he looked pathetic right now, he knew he'd _been_  pathetic for the past couple of weeks now, but the words were already out of his mouth and the plea was in his eyes and he couldn't stop looking at Dean. Because that was what he  _always_  did when he felt scared and alone. Because Dean always knew what to do. Sam might make the plans but Dean always had the answers, and right now, Sam needed answers.

"I don't know."

The admission seemed to take something from Dean, the light dimmed in his eyes. Sam scoffed and looked away, irrationally disappointed and angry. He tried to remind himself that Dean was in the same boat he was, that Dean knew as much as he did about alternate worlds and how to get to them. He knew it wasn't Dean's  _fault_ , but he couldn't help feeling let down all the same. His brother was  _supposed_  to know, and if he didn't, he was supposed to make something up. Like he had when they were kids, even when Sam had known Dean was lying, the lie had at least made him feel better.

"But we will, you and me."

And there it was. Dean sounded so sincere that Sam almost believed him. Dean certainly looked like he believed it, staring intently as Sam as though willing him to believe too. As though  _he_  was the one with all the faith now and Sam was the concerning wreck. Which he supposed was the case but still… it stung.

"Yeah." Sam said, as much to hide his irritation as a way to escape this conversation, "night." He left for the sanctuary of his room, feeling Dean's worried eyes on the back of his head.

 

***

 

Sam spent the night staring at the ceiling, turning the events of the past few days over in his mind. Rowena's fear had made him remember his own and now he was afraid to sleep, knowing that his subconscious would bring back those old nightmares, those memories.

Sam had suppressed his time in the Cage. He rationalised to himself that he hadn't had the time to break down, there was always another apocalypse to stop, another enemy to fight, another battle to plan for. Like he'd told Rowena, he hadn't really  _dealt_  with it at all. He'd thought he'd been able to move past it, like ignoring it long enough would lessen its sting, but feeling that fear curdle in his stomach he knew that that was a lie. If he confronted it head on it might just kill him outright. But he also knew that if he kept ignoring it, especially now that he was  _aware_  of it, that was likely to drive him insane.

Every time his thoughts strayed to Lucifer, he felt a searing pain and his mind shied away, he knew what awaited in that direction and he just… couldn't. He'd thought he'd left it behind, along with his guilt over what he had done when he was soulless, along with his worries about not making it to Heaven in the end, along with his fear that he would just keep letting Dean down. But Rowena had dredged it all back up from the depths of his subconscious and he knew it wouldn't be pushed down again.

Dean had said that the only way out was through. But he couldn't go through. Going through would destroy him. He knew that as surely as he knew his own name. Lucifer's face grinned at him in his mind's eye. His  _true_  face. The one that turned his stomach, the one that instilled pure terror into every cell of his body. It was so much worse than anything he could have imagined, so much more frightening than a face had any right to be.

Sam glanced at the clock before sighing and going to take a shower. Without realising, he'd become drenched in cold sweat.

When Sam emerged from his bathroom it had just turned five am. He dressed and made his way to the kitchen. If he ate early and then went out for a long run, maybe he could avoid Dean for the rest of the day. His stomach grumbled, he wasn't really sure when he had last eaten but the shower had relaxed him enough to feel hungry.

Unfortunately, his brother was already awake and sliding a stack of pancakes onto a plate. He placed the plate in front of Sam's usual chair along with a bottle of syrup and leaned against the counter, nodding to Sam as he walked in.

"What's this?" Sam asked.

"Pancakes." Dean grunted, gesturing for Sam to sit. "I haven't seen you eat in a couple of days and I know you haven't been sleeping much either. I've heard you knocking about in the early hours. I figured I should make sure you're not wasting away. So eat."

Sam glared at him but sat and picked up the syrup, he squeezed a little onto the side of his plate before taking hold of the fork and slicing off a section of pancake with the edge and dipping it into the pool of syrup. Dean rolled his eyes, as he always did when Sam didn't just shove the whole thing down his throat the way Dean did.

"Where are yours?" he asked "and why are you even awake?"

Dean shrugged, "it's too early for food Sam." he said, although he avoided the second question. Sam suspected that he wasn't the only one struggling to sleep. He almost felt bad, Dean was probably worried about him.

Dean took the seat opposite Sam and watched while his brother ate, patiently waiting until Sam had swallowed the last bite and pushed the empty plate away before speaking again.

"Talk to me." Dean said, his voice soft, unassuming. It was an open invitation, a plea.

Sam looked into his brother's eyes. He wanted to help. All Dean ever wanted was to help him. But Sam had kept this particular aspect of his life a secret for reasons he couldn't fathom, it had been that way for years. He didn't have the words.

"I don't know how." Sam said, voice cracking. For the first time, he  _wanted_  to. He wanted to talk about it, he wanted to put some of this weight onto Dean, if only because he couldn't hold it all anymore.

"So what  _do_  you know?" Dean asked, holding his gaze, the slightest of furrows in his brow the only indication that he was feeling anything at all.

Sam took a long moment to answer, analysing his thoughts, his feelings. Then he looked down at the streaks of syrup still stuck to the plate between them.

"I know that I'm mad at you." Sam said quietly. Of that he was sure of. His annoyance at Dean had grown over the past week and he hated feeling it, especially because Dean hadn't actually done anything  _wrong_.

Dean nodded like this answer was expected, but other than that, his face didn't change. "Why?" he asked, voice even. This calmed Sam. He'd expected surprise, anger, hurt even, hurt that Dean didn't deserve.

"Because you don't understand."

"Understand what?"

"What Lucifer is."

"I understand that he's the Devil." There was a slight inflection in Dean's tone now, just a hint of confusion.

"Maybe, but you don't know what that  _means_. To you, he's just another bad guy and sure, you know he's  _evil_ , you know what he's done, but he's more than that. He's so much more, and so much  _worse_  and you treat him like he's just a side character in our lives."

"Well… I mean, he is a major dick."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about Dean! You've only ever seen him in a vessel, to you, he has a face and a name and you can back-talk him and make jokes and insult him because you don't  _understand_. You haven't seen his face. Not really. Not his  _true_  face."

Sam's hands clenched together in his lap to hide the shaking, so hard that he knew he was going to leave crescent shaped imprints of his nails in the skin.

Dean leaned forward, his own hands clasped on the table.

"Does seeing his face change anything?" he asked. His head tilted slightly in a way that was reminiscent of Cas. He was clearly making a concentrated effort to stay as stoic as possible. Sam would have mocked him, if it hadn't been working.

"Yes," Sam breathed as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, "seeing his face changes  _everything_."

"Why?"

" _Because_ -" Sam spluttered incredulously, floundering for the words, "because once you've seen that… you know exactly who Lucifer  _is_."

Dean was silent for a moment, processing Sam's words while Sam shuffled his chair closer to the table so he could lean his elbows on it. He was aware of the way his shoulders had slumped, the way he had curled in on himself, keeping his movements small and unobtrusive. He hated himself for that but he  _needed_  to talk about this. This was his way through.

"You don't know what evil is until you've seen that face." Sam said, allowing his irritation, both at his brother and himself into his shaking voice, "and  _you_  forget that that's what he is. He's not just a minor inconvenience, he's not just a fallen archangel, he's not just some asshole with daddy issues and superpowers. He's the embodiment of all that is wrong in this world. He has taken on every bad deed, every lie, every act motivated by hate, every murder ever committed since he Fell and even though he's not  _responsible_  for those things and hell, he doesn't even  _agree_  with some of them, it doesn't matter, because the intent behind it, hatred, intolerance, superiority, madness, indifference, sadism, whatever bad feeling it is… They all belong to him. He  _owns_  them, he  _is_  them. You don't understand that and he doesn't scare you like you should be scared of him."

Sam took a shuddering breath, letting out some of his anger in a sharp huff.

"Okay." Dean said slowly. "I hear you. I know that he's dangerous. And I know that the vessel he's in isn't real. But without seeing behind that like you have, I can't fully appreciate it and my brain just has to make him into something that I can fight. So I know that sometimes it sounds like I've put him on the back burner but I want you to know that I know that he's a threat, whether he's in another world or not. And he  _does_  scare me, Sam. He still has the power to take away people that I care about and I don't think that that's a joke. Okay?"

They were words that Sam already knew but hearing Dean actually  _say_  them felt like a weight off his shoulders. He actually sagged a little in relief and his eyes filled with tears that he blinked back, glancing up at the ceiling to do so. It felt so good to hear that he wasn't alone in this, that Dean understood, even a little.

"The Cage is coming back isn't it?" Dean asked.

Sam's eyes snapped back to his brother's, suddenly terrified again. But there was no judgement in those eyes, no derision, and no pity. There was only understanding, and an answering echo of pain. He nodded.

"It never really went away," he said, hesitantly, "I just… ignoring it got easier I guess and there was always something bigger to think about…" he trailed off. Dean's lips twisted for a second but then Sam blinked and his expression was neutral again.

"I can't sleep." It was a small confession. Obvious. Dean had already said he knew as much, but he hadn't said it aloud and that  _meant_  something. "I keep having nightmares about it. About  _him_. The things he did to me, Dean. And not just him and Michael using me like a damn air hockey puck, not just _that_  kind of torture. He got in my head. He got between me and reality, he made me believe that you were coming, that I was free, only to drag me back. He made me believe it over and over again. He played out thousands of different scenarios and he never repeated a single one so that each time I'd fall for it. And I felt so weak, so damn gullible and so stupid. He took my mind from me. My ability to think rationally, so that logic didn't need to apply anymore 'cause I'd believe it anyway. He'd tear me into strips just when he got bored but there was always something new. Something  _worse_. Sometimes he'd just ignore me, he ignored me once for fifteen years. No contact, not a word, and I tried to draw him out!  _I_ tried to engage  _him_. Because there was nothing else! And then like a switch he'd be back to the non-stop torture and… God, there was just…" He couldn't finish that sentence, his mouth had gone dry, his throat clenched around air when he tried to swallow.

Without a word, Dean stood and walked over to the sink where he filled a glass with water and came back again, setting down the glass in front of Sam who gulped it down greedily as though he hadn't drank anything in days. Dean re-filled his glass twice more before sitting back down.

"It doesn't help having two sets of memories either," Sam said, when he felt ready to talk again. "It took me a long time to figure that out when I was whole again. I had the memories of what I was doing  _here_ , not at first, it was all a blur but later, and at the same time, the memories of what was happening down  _there_. And  _those_ memories span for longer than I've been  _alive_. And they're condensed into each second. When I think back to the time I didn't have my soul, I can't make it out clearly, it's all just a rush of Earth and the Cage and darkness and horror and it feels like eternity but it's over in a blink. And  _he_ did this to me. He did all of that to me and I couldn't fight him. Over a century in that Cage and I  _tried_. I tried to fight him, at first. But I couldn't even scratch him. So I tried to resist him instead, tried to question everything, I tried to figure out what his next move was but he was too unpredictable. There was no routine, not ever. He broke me down to nothing and I've been trying to pick up the pieces ever since. And that helplessness hasn't gone away and I don't think it'll  _ever_  go away and I'm scared. Because I still can't trust in a reality where he's gone."

The words left his mouth and Sam could almost see them leaving his body, where they'd been stored for far too long. He felt too warm, he was sweating, but it felt like a  _good_  kind of sweat, cleansing, like some of the toxicity was leaving him, stuck to the words that were no longer rattling around in his head. He felt lighter and a little light-headed. Dean frowned at him slightly, then stood and refilled his glass once more. He also came back with a damp towel, which he pushed over to Sam so he could press it to his own forehead. That was nice. Normally Dean would have insisted on doing it himself, smothering him with physical contact and care. But that wasn't what he needed right now and Dean seemed to know it.

"I'm sorry." Dean said quietly. "I'm sorry that you felt like you couldn't talk to me about any of this. I'm sorry I never asked. I'm sorry that you had to go through any of that in the first place." He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, they were back behind the calm mask.

Sam took a sip of his water and nodded, flashing his brother a small smile.

"You're not gonna like this next bit." He said by way of a warning. He was so close to saying it all, he  _had_  to say it all. If he didn't say it now then he knew he never would. "I  _really_ don't like this next bit."

"Honestly Sam, I haven't much liked any of what you've been saying. But I want you to tell me anyway."

Sam nodded again.

"It's back to you again, I guess. Why I'm mad, why I've been mad at you. Seeing you when Cas came back…" he risked a glance at his brother then and noticed a slight tightening in his jaw. "Before that, I could hold it together because you needed me to. And even though I missed Mom like crazy we had a way to get her back and I could hold on to that. And  _you_  were… you were a mess and that was okay because I  _understood. Y_ ou were grieving and you'd given up and even though it scared the hell out of me I got where it was coming from. And then Cas came back and it was like the sun came out. You completely turned around in a matter of  _seconds_. And I was happy for you because you hadn't smiled in weeks and I was so relieved to see you so happy. Cas was your win, right? And you told me that you just needed a win. But…"

He glanced at Dean again. A muscle twitched in his eyebrow, but he was otherwise unnaturally still. Tense, as though bracing himself. Sam sighed, hating himself but knowing that he had to continue, even if it meant that Dean would never forgive him. He wondered how Dean had known that this was what he had needed. Not Dean telling him that he had to get out of this 'dark place', as though all he would need to do was break down a door and escape, but instead, sitting him down and giving him the opportunity to explain himself. He was so close, he could feel it. And maybe it wouldn't solve everything but at least it wouldn't all be eating away at his insides any more, at least it could clear the air and let him see the way through.

"You kept getting better. Even when Jack and Cas left you kept your hope. And that was great, it was what I  _wanted_  but it wasn't what I'd thought would happen. I thought when they left that it would hit you harder. That you'd fall back down, that you'd realise that our chances of finding Mom were dwindling down to zero. But you didn't seem to care about that. Like, you'd got what you wanted and nothing else mattered. As long as Cas was alive then Mom could be dead in some otherworld desert Hell-scape and Jack could be out there, alone and scared and you'd be okay with that. And I know it's stupid and irrational and I'm glad you're not in that place anymore but part of me kind of wishes you were. Because then I wouldn't be alone in this, in missing them and wanting them back so badly and I don't even know how to start. But you don't even pretend to miss them anymore. It's like the only reason you want them back is to make  _me_  happy. And I know you never liked Jack until it turned out  _he_  was the one who brought Cas back but I thought Mom meant more to you than that. You used to talk about her with such love and longing and pain.  _She_ was the thing you needed the most, so much so that she was  _literally_  a gift from God's sister but since she's been back you've been so angry and so resentful and you kept pushing her away and when she got trapped in that place you gave up on her, immediately. And it was only after Jack showed us what she was going through that you even seemed to care. You'd written her off and I've never seen that from you, never. Not about family. You left her behind, Dean. And I dunno, that just… that's taken something."

He stopped there. He'd said all he needed and he didn't think going into the details of his feelings of betrayal will do either of them any good. Especially because Sam knew how childish they would sound. But they came from  _being_  a child. From being looked after by Dean, him saying that nothing was more important to him than family, that as long as they had each other, everything would be okay. That family stuck together, even when things were bad, even when Dad would come home drunk and angry and Dean would quickly shepherd Sam into the bedroom and shut him in while he went to make sure that John passed out on the sofa with a blanket and a pillow and a glass of water on the side-table, even if it took a lot of shouting and what sounded like heavy furniture being tossed around.

Dean would tidy everything up once John had fallen asleep, of course, but he couldn't hide the dents in the thin motel walls, or the redness of his eyes the next day. How could Dean have stuck by John through  _that_ , worshipping the man into his late twenties, but abandon Mary now, when she was suffering and needed their help? Dean had lived his entire life for his family. Until now. And that frightened Sam more than he cared to admit. More than he even knew  _how_  to admit. His guts churned, but behind that he felt so much lighter, so much  _freer_. Like he'd been inside for weeks and this was his first taste of fresh air. But he knew that his words had not been kind, he had needed to say them for himself but he wasn't entirely sure his brother was strong enough to take them.

When Sam finally worked up the courage to look up. Dean's face was still, as though it had been carved from stone and it was as pale as marble. Then he blinked and nodded once.

"Thanks for telling me, Sam," he said, his voice steady and smooth

"Yeah, I-" Sam said, confused and worried at the lack of reaction. "I had to say it, Dean. I'm sorry, know how it sounds and it wasn't meant to be like that but I  _had_  to-" Dean held up a hand.

"Don't apologise for getting what you need," he said, "I'm always here for you Sam.  _Always_. Don't ever be afraid to tell me things. I don't care what they are, if you need to say them, I'm here to listen."

Sam picked up on the unspoken words immediately, and it made him feel even worse about the anger he'd been holding in for so long ' _take what you need from me Sammy, it doesn't matter what it is or how much it hurts, I'll give everything I have for you if you want me to.'_

"Same to you." Sam said quickly, before Dean could get up to leave, "this has… it's helped Dean, really. Even just saying that crap aloud, even though it's irrational and doesn't make any sense or whatever... I know Hell still gets to you, and I know what you did down there. But you don't talk about it much. So if  _you_ ever need… you know… It seems to be a time for sharing."

Dean sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair with an easy smile, the pain and exhaustion etched into his face smoothed out in an instant.

"I'm good Sammy. I'm the big brother, remember?"

Sam scoffed, "Right. I'm not buying that."

Dean shrugged, "my crap isn't killing me like yours was."

"Dean," Sam said softly, "don't let my crap kill you either, okay? It's all stupid, it felt so big until it was said, you know? And now it doesn't even feel like anything. Like… the rational stuff seems reasonable so why was I even afraid to admit it? And the irrational stuff just doesn't matter. So don't beat yourself up over anything I've said alright? Alastair already did a good job on tearing you apart."

Dean flinched at the name and Sam regretted voicing it. They hadn't talked about Alastair, not in years, not since he was around to be worth talking about. Sam had thought that he had just faded from Dean's mind, he was dead, he'd had his closure there. It had only just occurred to him that Alastair was Dean's Lucifer. It should have clicked before now. Dean had never joked about Alastair. For the first time, Sam was morbidly curious. He knew that Dean had tortured souls down there and he honestly hadn't wanted to know the details. Now… he kind of did. He had just bared his soul to his brother. He wanted Dean to do the same. He'd been under Alastair's knife once himself after all. He hated himself for thinking it but he longed for that connection.

Sam and Dean had been tortured together and apart too many times to count. They were bound by suffering and loss and love and family. But Sam had revealed a part of himself today that he had plastered over long ago, a part that had been his and his alone. It had felt good to share that and he wanted the same relief for Dean. Dean, who carried everything inside of him like an iron cage full of lead hung from his throat. Who shared truths like that only when he was on the verge of death, or when he was out of options or out of hope. In some ways, Sam and Dean knew everything about each other, in others they were complete strangers. And Sam never felt that more than when Dean closed himself off, putting on his 'big brother protector' act, as though they hadn't been equals in this for years.

"I don't really wanna talk about it Sam," Dean said firmly, "you should go back to bed, try and get some sleep. If you need me I'll be right down the hall."

Sam nodded and stood. Dean stayed where he was, watching him carefully, as though considering him.

"Thanks," Sam said. "Really. Thanks. I needed this."

Dean flashed him a small smile.

"Anytime Sammy."

Sam was in the doorway when Dean called his name. Sam glanced back and was surprised at the look on his brother's face. Like he was pleading again.

"You know," he said slowly, "I'm not okay with Mom being gone. Cas coming back was a big thing but it didn't fix everything, I still want Mom back. But I just didn't feel like I had the right to ask for it, you know? And I'm not making excuses but it felt like I got to have  _one_  thing back. And I didn't get to choose. So wanting more was like I was pushing my luck."

"If it was like that, and you  _had_ gotten to choose. What would you have picked?" Sam asked, curious.

Dean shot his brother a look that was half-panicked, half-angry, "Come on, Sam, don't ask me that!" he said. "You wanna know who I'd choose between the mom I've lived without for most of my life and my best friend the angel who has a habit of leaving to go off on his own?"

"You're right," Sam said, holding up his hands in surrender, "I'm sorry. It was a dumb question."

"Ya think?" Dean asked, eyebrows raised. Then he sighed, "They're both important to me, Sam. Mom was this... figure from back when being happy was easy. When being happy just...  _was_. And it wasn't perfect but once she was gone  _everything_  was bad. So she was the good I held on to, you know? All I had was her. She was the one thing that wasn't tainted by what happened to her. Ironic, right?"

"And Cas?"

Dean's jaw worked for a moment and Sam almost tried to take back the question. He never liked to push Dean on this, it wasn't his place to get involved. But now seemed like a good time for honest questions.

"Cas helped us when we had nothing." Dean said finally, "he didn't have to and it cost him everything but he still helped us. And he doesn't hate us for it. He's a good person, Sam. And he's seen  _my_  true face and he didn't run."

Sam frowned, " _Your_ true face? What do you mean?"

"Nothing." Dean said quickly, "I guess it's easier to hope now because having both doesn't feel so far away. As long as Cas doesn't go and get himself into trouble again then all we need to do is find a way to get Mom and Jack back, and that doesn't seem so big anymore, like we're already halfway to having everything."

"That's a nice way of looking at it." Sam said. "I just can't help thinking that being halfway there isn't good enough."

"Just try livin' on a prayer Sammy," Dean said, grinning.

Sam laughed. "I don't pray anymore, Dean. I know God's not around to listen and I don't exactly wanna clue any other angels into what we're doing."

"Point."

"So… about Hell…?" Sam asked tentatively.

Dean rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Why do you wanna know so bad all of a sudden?" he asked, "it was a long time ago Sam, we've already talked about it."

"You told me what you needed to, nothing more." Sam said. "I wanna hear the rest. And who knows, it might even help you."

Dean let out a frustrated groan.

"Alright. If I tell you one thing.  _One._  Will you please go to bed and quit bugging me about it? It's not something I can talk about, okay?"

"Tell me."

There was a long pause while Dean studied him, various emotions flickering across his face, clearly fighting with himself over what he was ready to say.

"Alastair tearing me apart wasn't actually that bad." Dean said eventually, "what was worse was when he'd pull me back together. He showed me his true face too… after I got down from the rack he showed me. And I wasn't scared, Sam. Not even a little. It was the most horrible, twisted thing I'd ever seen and I wasn't even scared."

Sam swallowed his questions. He wasn't sure he wanted to know any more.

"Do you feel any better?" He asked instead.

Dean snorted, "No." Then he stood and went to the fridge, pulling out a six-pack of beer. Sam almost protested, but he had drawn Dean into talking about this, practically forced him to. He didn't have any right to stop Dean from dealing with it however he could.

"I'm sorry." He said. "I thought it might help you the same."

"Maybe it would, Sam. Maybe someday."

Sam turned, hearing the gentle hiss of gas as Dean cracked open the first bottle, his brother's words ringing in his head, but their meaning still unclear. Maybe that was for the best. At least for now.

Sam felt suddenly exhausted and pleasantly drained. As though over the course of one conversation, all of his anger and at least the edges of his fear had been purged from him. For the first time in weeks he wasn't afraid as he lay down in bed, his head hitting the soft pillow was comforting rather than ominous and he fell asleep at once.

 

***

 

He awoke seven hours later and laughed aloud in relief. Not a single nightmare. He decided to take another look through those books Dean had dug up. Maybe he had missed something important earlier.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So what do you think?
> 
> Not a very plot driven piece, I know but I wanted to expand a little on what the show has been doing with Sam. Although I'm still unconvinced I get his character on point. And I feel like Dean would try a different tack and try to have a calm, frank discussion without it ending in an argument.
> 
> I hope the dialogue isn't too clunky or OOC or long-winded (I know there's a lot of it)
> 
> All feedback is loved and appreciated.
> 
> Love Tibbins xx


End file.
